Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night

I fell asleep at the wheel again. Had my laptop revved up and ready to roar but the world got sucked into yawns amd swallowed down deep into lackluster sleep. You can imagine my surprise when I awoke to the whirring of my outdated Inspiron 8200 (B-day's Wednesday so someone should buy me a G4 which in adherence with my luck as soon as I get will be made antiquated by the much rumored G5), back propped up by patchwork silk sari pillows (not so cliche as Beyonce's, MTV crib's afficionados, although I begrudgingly admit I am "so Fugees") staring at the blank screen of my not quite creativity. Damn Damn Damn Jah (my new feel bad mantra is the much ballyhooed "Get Ya Mind Right" but I still like Jody "anything for profit" Breeze better). So I tip toed to sis's virtual room not wanting to wake her. Too far away to hear her snoring but close enough to catch her unnerving habit of zzzzing with her eyes half open. But damn if I hadn't remembered how bright the world outside my window is since I've been bathing in dark shadows bone chillingly afraid of my own light and squinty sun faced by damn near everyone elses. I miss the frog hiccups, I tell you, and world shaking sneezes. Nikki Giovanni's '97 offering bites and June Jordan's brown jacket props up grad school texts on my bookshelf which does not diminish the truth telling ministry stubbornly present in the absense of her soft spoken flesh: Some of us did not die. Some of us will not die but live and in turn others will love/live infinitely more abundantly.

i breathe underwater, create worlds in lands you've never even dared to dream. you can follow me to the edge of the sea, but your lava will not penetrate me any longer. i can breathe without fire, without burning myself on your words.
~L

For more Easter dress punch stains, Christmas socked cheerleading, obsessive compulsive Baduizm, mama mackism, ankle twisting platform appreciation, lurid life lessons and, yes, poetry visit my sis', the vegetarian defecting alchemist.